Geoff was expecting to be on call on Friday this week but suddenly found himself on call last night (Monday). At least, I hope it was suddenly because the first I heard of it was when I decided to go to dinner (he hadn't come back by just after 6.30pm) to be told by the others not to expect him any time soon. As is standard practice, I plated up his meal and Amy generously gave him 3 portions of pudding. By the time everyone left the mess there was still no sign so a kind medical student helped me carry it all home...
I'd had an 'interesting' day. Last week I'd identified that perhaps the chap in charge of greeting people and organising accommodation needed a hand. I don't know why, perhaps it's because no one was expecting us and we'd been housed in a filthy flea pit. Then they weren't aware of Fiona and Rory coming and their house preparations were rushed (the new cement around the loo was still wet and there was no fridge). I had offered assistance towards the end of the week but been sent away with a flea in my ear. Everything was fine, the man had a spreadsheet with everyone on and he knew exactly what was going on. I withdrew. How could I have got it so wrong?
Separately, Geoff had discovered that the medical student rotations could do with a little more structure. It would be useful for them and the departments to know how many students were coming, for how long, and when. It's no use having a student for 2 weeks at a time because you just spend your time training them. I mention this in my useful chat with the Medical Superintendent (boss of the hospital). He agrees and suggests Geoff should do this. I head to the administration office to see if I can get the list of names.
'No organisation needs doing, the students say in advance what they want to do and they have an orientation on day one and choose specialty then. Why would you want to organise anything any further in advance?' Um, I don't know! Perhaps because lives and the rota are at stake. Why on earth would you think beyond tomorrow? You might be dead - especially if you were sent to a hospital with no I/V antibiotics - oh hang on, that was here!! Eventually, after a brief exchange where he asked me if I had a job back home, [I am putting myself forward for an award - I managed not to say a single provocative thing at that point.] he prints me a copy of the aforementioned spreadsheet.
Inside I am laughing. This thing is a joke. For a start I point out that 3 medical students have arrived today - where are they on the list? Two were expected on the 27th of Sept, the third 'Peter' is not on the list at all. At this point the nice man tells me I'm wrong and there is no Peter here but a guy whose surname is Yin. I can assure you now that the medical student I showed round the hospital an hour earlier did not have the surname Yin! Geoff and I are on the list twice (how nice!) but both as expected on the 21st - which goes some way to explaining the confusion and mould...
This list is useless - it only goes to the end of September, I can see gaps in the data and the data that is there is patently untrustworthy. I think back to work and my junior teams - not once (thankfully) have I seen anything as shambolic as this. But, I'm not at work, I'm not being paid and this man does 'not need any help'. I thank him and ask what he thinks the weather will be like tomorrow? 'The weather? It will be the same'. I feel a little better for he has inadvertently joined in on a private family joke. My father enjoys telling stories of his time in Malawi and his travelling with a chap named Jim. Every day Jim would open the curtains and say 'Nice day for it' safe in the knowledge that the weather is pretty much always nice and always the same...
I had hoped that Geoff would take over now and tell you what he was doing last night. He ate his dinner (no pudding) quickly at 10pm and came back at 2.30am. We got up just before 7am and he went to the 7.30am clinical meeting. This is a long way of telling you that right now (9.10pm) Geoff is sat next to me asleep on the chair. Perhaps tomorrow he can tell you about his 'fun' in theatre with his improvised chest drain (hospital has run out), lack of gowns (hospital has run out), multiple patients admitted to the ward at lunchtime needing urgent care but not flagged to the surgeons (standard) and the myriad of animals that inhabit theatres at night including: rats (which eat the body parts the surgeons cut off (ugh!) and the image intensifier), cockroaches, ants and a large spider. It sounded glorious! Wish I was there!!!
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